


Weekend At Dick's

by Rae_Roberts



Series: Werewolves AU [5]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alpha Sam Winchester, Alternate Universe, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bottom Dean Winchester/Top Sam Winchester, Dominance, Hand Jobs, Knotting, M/M, Male Slash, Non-Traditional Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Omega Dean Winchester, Oral Sex, Submission, Top Dean Winchester/Bottom Sam Winchester, Werewolves
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-03
Updated: 2019-11-12
Packaged: 2021-01-20 23:40:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,959
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21290075
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rae_Roberts/pseuds/Rae_Roberts
Summary: With the defeat of Jake Talley and the Dark Moon Brotherhood, Sam Winchester becomes a reluctant celebrity, leading the fight for werewolf equal rights.   The pack has earned a vacation, but trouble in one of the camps threatens to cut their weekend short.   And what about Benny Lafitte?   A fairly equal mix of plotty bits and naughty bits.  Finished story; will be posted in installments, updates on Werewolf Wednesdays.Sequel to 'Road Trip'.
Relationships: Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester
Series: Werewolves AU [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/802077
Comments: 4
Kudos: 27





	1. Celibacy Sucks

Sam always woke just before his alarm went off, and the subtle shift in his breathing always woke Dean. That didn’t stop Dean from grumbling when the annoyingly cheery electronic wake-up jingle played. 

Sam let go of Dean’s hand and reached for his phone with a yawn, turning off the alarm. “‘Mornin’.”

Never a morning person, Dean responded with a grunt. He abandoned the warmth of his sleeping bag reluctantly and pulled a worn pair of jeans out of his duffle bag. 

On his own side of the tent, Sam was kneeling, rolling up his own sleeping bag, wearing nothing but a pair of boxers. Dean couldn’t help but run his eyes over the long, lean lines of Sam’s body, lingering on the way his not-brother’s big hands gripped the slippery nylon of the sleeping bag. Dean’s own hands faltered as he buttoned his fly, the sight of Sam’s forearms flexing as he wrestled the sleeping bag into a tight, tidy bedroll sending his pulse racing.

Sam looked up, supernaturally keen werewolf senses immediately picking up on Dean’s attraction. He smirked, showing a flash of sharp fangs, and Dean felt the temperature rise by several degrees as Sam’s body responded in kind. “_Ah_\--” Dean managed to stifle a yelp of surprise as the alpha launched himself across the narrow space between them and tackled him onto the messy pile of belongings that made up Dean’s side of the tent. 

Dean bumped his head on the old green beer cooler, and there was something lumpy, probably a boot, wedged under the small of his back. None of that mattered, though, not with Sam’s tongue snaking into his mouth in a blistering kiss. Dean let his hands roam over his mate’s damn-near-naked body, drinking in the warmth of his skin, his scent, the taste of him on his tongue. Sam rolled onto his side, pulling Dean with him so they were lying face to face, his hands moving purposefully to tug his jeans down. Dean lifted his hips, the better to help Sam get his jeans and boxers out of their way, and tilted his head, the better to tangle his tongue with Sam’s. And speaking of clothing that needed to be out of the way… Dean gripped the waistband of Sam’s boxers, a strong, calloused hand at each side of his narrow waist, and gave the tired elastic a sharp yank. 

“Hey!” Sam protested as the threadbare cotton shredded, but there was laughter in his tone and he rocked his hips forward to press the hard, hot length of his freed cock into Dean’s hand. Dimly aware that they were in the middle of an encampment of several hundred people, Dean silenced his mate with another deep, searing kiss. Sam wrapped his fist around the base of Dean’s cock and gave it a long, firm stroke, and Dean fought to suppress a growl of pure lust. He wrapped his free arm around Sam’s waist, hauling him in closer, belly to belly, the length of Sam’s cock pressed tight against his. There was nothing he wanted more, right now, than to stay right here and indulge in wild werewolf sex until noon. At _least_ until noon. It had been way too long, damn it. 

Sam groaned, a noise of frustration instead of passion. His hands shifted to Dean’s upper arms. “Sorry,” he murmured. “Got a little carried away, there.” 

“Sammy…” Dean groaned right back. Every atom of his being protested at the space his mate had opened up between their bodies. “Come on--”

“We can’t.” Sam gripped Dean’s arms a little tighter for a moment, as if trying to convince himself as much as Dean, the pupils of his golden eyes blown wide with lust. They slowly contracted back to normal as Sam released him, pulling away with visible effort. “We’re supposed to be brothers, remember?”

“Yeah, well, I’m not your brother.” Dean flopped over and lay sprawled on his back for a long minute, letting his pulse slow back to something approaching normal. Heaving an aggrieved sigh, he rolled to his knees and tucked his aching, still-hard cock back into his jeans. “Put some damn clothes on, then, ‘baby brother’.” Dean gave Sam’s cute little bare ass a hard, ringing slap as Sam bent to rummage in his duffle bag. Call it brotherly payback. 

“Full moon in just a couple of days,” Sam remarked, stepping into another pair of boxers that had seen better days. They’d already run through the bounties the pack had collected on Jake Talley and his lieutenants, spending the money on the usual ammo and gasoline, but mostly on donations to camps like this one. 

Dean didn’t miss the sly promise in Sam’s voice, and his voice came out as a low, rumbling growl when he replied, “Full moon can’t come soon enough. We deserve a vacation.” The werewolf pack’s defeat of Jake Talley’s Dark Moon Brotherhood had kicked the push for werewolf rights into high gear. Sam had become a celebrity, not just among the werewolves who’d joined the cause, but among humans as well. They’d been on the road almost non-stop ever since, visiting one encampment after another across the country, rallying werewolves and their allies to take advantage of the good publicity and to push even harder for equal rights with the humans of this world. 

Which was awesome, Dean thought as he laced up his boots, but the downside? The press had ‘outed’ him as Sam’s big brother. Never mind that the Dean Winchester of this world, eldest son of this world’s John Winchester, had been dead for years. Thousands of people across the country were convinced Dean had somehow faked his own death, the better to hunt down the Dark Moon Brotherhood. Who would believe the truth, that a demon-summoning gone wrong had somehow transported him from an alternate universe? 

They really had no choice but to go along with the pretext, and in the overcrowded camps, with nothing but a couple of millimeters of nylon tent wall between the Winchester ‘brothers’ and close-packed crowds of people well-known for their supernaturally keen senses? Sex was out of the question. “Celibacy _sucks_,” Dean groused under his breath…

**...**

“...So, why don’t you hook up with Lydia?” Sam suggested over a makeshift breakfast of donated apples, scrambled eggs, and instant cheese grits served up by the camp’s volunteer-run kitchen.

It just figured Sam had overheard his bitching, werewolves’ hearing being almost painfully acute this close to the full moon, but, “Who’th Lythia?” Dean answered around a mouthful of eggs, giving his mate a look of blank incomprehension.

Sam rolled his eyes. “Red parka? Pigtails?.. The woman serving the grits?” he prompted. “The woman you just spent five minutes flirting with? That Lydia?”

Dean stole a glance over at the serving line. “Oh, yeah, _that_ Lydia.” The cute werewolf in the red parka caught his eye and waved coyly. Dean gave her a nod and a broad smile before turning back to Sam. “Dude. You’re honestly telling me to hook up with some random woman we just met?”

“Go for it,” he shrugged. “I’m not bothered if you have a one night stand once in a while. At least one of us might as well enjoy the hero worship--”

The notion of his mate suggesting he indulge in a one night stand was certainly intriguing, but, “Incoming,” Dean interrupted Sam. A werewolf and two human allies were approaching the table. All female, all young, and all clearly enamored of the tall, broad-shouldered alpha. Dean watched, amused, as Sam rose to greet them, the polite gesture leaving him towering above them as they blushed and fluttered their way through star-struck introductions. It was like this at every camp they’d visited. Women--and plenty of men, too, Dean thought; werewolves seemed to him to be mostly bisexual, despite Sam’s insistence that the human categories of sexual preference didn’t apply--all crowding around the hero who’d taken down America’s most wanted rogue werewolf. Sam smiled and chatted politely, seeming totally at ease with the interaction, though Dean knew he was uncomfortable with the adulation. 

“Would you, um, would you mind taking a picture?” 

Dean had just reached across the table and snagged Sam’s portion of scrambled eggs. What? They were just sitting there getting cold. No point in letting them go to waste. Suppressing a sigh, he smiled politely and took the cell phone Sam’s most recent fangirl was holding out to him hopefully. “Sure thing, sweetheart.” 

They damn well deserved a vacation…

**...**

“...You sure we’re on the right road?” Dean asked. The poorly maintained gravel road they’d been on for the past half hour had gradually degraded to poorly maintained dirt. 

“According to the GPS, we ought to be arriving… Um, now.” Matt Pike’s boyish face was lit by the blue glow of his cell phone screen as he sat between Jo and Rachel in the back seat. 

Even with a wolf’s night vision, Dean couldn’t see so much as a cabin through the windshield, let alone a mansion. The endless groves of pine and aspen crowded too close to the road, branches interlaced overhead, blocking out the moonlight. 

“I can’t picture some billionaire driving around the back end of beyond,” Jo’s voice was skeptical.

“Oh, no, Mr. Roman would be flown up here in his private helicopter,” Matt explained.

“Of course he would.” Dean rolled his eyes. “I still can’t believe a dick like Dick Roman supports werewolf rights.”

“Mr. Roman gives hundreds of thousands annually to a wide variety of worthy causes.” 

Matt sounded as if he was reciting from memory. Dean rolled his eyes, but refrained from making any more comments about billionaire douchebag Dick Roman. Matt did an incredible job lining up allies to help fund the werewolf civil rights movement. Not to mention the freebies the kid somehow got various one-percenters to cough up, like the use of a vacation home for the full moon. 

“Oh, I just remembered!” The blue glow of Matt’s phone lit up the back seat again. “This is a smart house. All the features can be programmed and run remotely: security system, heat, lights--” As if on cue, the warm, yellow glow of electric lights became visible through the trees. Dean let out a low whistle of appreciation. “See?” Matt beamed at him. “I can cue up a movie in the home theater, turn on a hot tub, even program a coffee maker to have your morning cup of Joe ready precisely at six-thirty.” 

“Make that eight-thirty,” Jo told him with a grin. “This is a vacation, after all.”


	2. Damn Cajun Cockblocker

“Ooooh,” Rachel sucked in her breath as the ‘69 Mustang pulled up to Dick Roman’s vacation home. “Rustic, yet ritzy,” she said. “Me likey!” 

The place was built of rough-hewn stone. Massive timbers supported the second story and framed the roof. Lights blazed from huge picture windows. Two wings sprawled out on either side of a majestic, two-story entrance hall. Sam echoed Rachel’s awe-struck tone. “That’s a hell of a hunting cabin.”

“I call dibs on the wing with the hot tub,” Jo said.

“There’s a hot tub in each wing,” Matt told her, beaming. “Drive around back, Dean. There should be a place to park the car out of the weather.” The forecast was calling for snow. 

Rachel gasped in delight as the car rounded the back corner of the luxury lodge. The lawn sloped down a hill to a pristine mountain lake, the lights Matt had turned on reflecting off the surface of the water. “It’s beautiful!” 

“_You’re_ beautiful.” Jo leaned across Matt to caress her mate’s cheek.

“Ugh, get a room, you two,” Dean teased. 

“We’ll get a suite,” Rachel giggled as they all piled out of the car.

Dean opened the trunk. Matt reached in and picked up Rachel’s distinctive purple duffle bag, then hastily slung his own bag over his shoulder. Dean watched, amused, as Matt snatched up Jo’s duffle before her fingers could close around the handle. 

“I’ll carry the luggage, ladies.”

“If you insist.” Rachel batted her eyelashes at him.

“Oh, I do insist-- _Whoa_!” Matt’s flirting cut off abruptly in a shriek of surprise as Jo picked him up, luggage and all, and casually tossed him over her shoulder in a fireman’s carry. 

“I’ll carry the boy toy,” she deadpanned.

“Careful, careful,” Rachel warned. Her grin was wicked, fangs glinting in the moonlight. “Don’t hurt him...Yet.”

“Woo-hoo!” Matt crowed as Jo carried him off, Rachel skipping along beside her. 

Dean shook his head. “If you’d told me a month ago that the girls would hook up with Matt Pike--” he chuckled.

“Gotta say, I did not see that coming,” Sam agreed. “Matt’s a good guy,” he added. 

“Yeah, he’s grown on me. Think he’ll survive the night?” Dean asked after a beat, only half joking. 

“He’ll be fine... Probably,” Sam amended with a smirk. In the moonlight, the alpha’s expression switched to a feral grin as he turned to Dean. “Shall I carry you across the threshold, too?” 

Dean snorted. “You can try.” 

Sam made a grab for his arms, but he’d given his plan away with his teasing. Dean easily broke out of his mate’s grip and made his own attempt to grab Sam and pick him up off his feet. They scuffled playfully for a few moments until Sam brought the horseplay to an end with a lingering kiss that set Dean’s pulse racing. “Let’s go inside.”

Dean scoffed as they made their way from the back of the mansion to the main entry, a two-story-high foyer decorated in the style Rachel had dubbed rustic but ritzy. “What kind of douchebag puts a twenty foot tall portrait of himself on display?”

“A rich douchebag,” Sam said dryly. His nostrils flared as he scented the air, then indicated the sweeping stairway to the right with a tilt of his head. “Our wing’s this way. Let’s pick out a room.”

“This joint doesn’t have anything smaller than a football field,” Dean reported after they’d opened several doors along the wide upstairs hallway, peeking into a series of lavish rooms. He was hardly exaggerating; every bedroom was part of an extensive suite. 

Sam joined his mate as Dean flipped on a light switch, revealing sinfully luxurious accommodations. “We could easily house a couple of hundred homeless werewolves here, in a space Dick Roman and a few rich cronies use, what, maybe two, three times a year?” His forehead creased as he took it all in. “It’s kind of obscene.”

“Yeah, well, I’m going to enjoy every obscene minute of it,” Dean leered as he toed off his boots. He let out an exaggerated sigh of indulgence as he padded across a plush area rug that probably cost more than a new car. A king-sized bed loomed in the next room and Dean wasted no time in flopping down on it, folding his arms behind his head as he leaned back against pillows lined up six deep against the headboard. 

Sam was still gawking at the huge flatscreen television, massive picture windows, and obviously expensive artwork adorning the walls, until the sound of Dean’s body hitting the mattress caught his full attention. With a grin, he repeated Dean’s action, discarding first one size fourteen boot and then the other on the carpet. But Sam didn’t stop with his boots. Stalking toward Dean with a predator’s dangerous grace, Sam tossed aside his jacket and pulled his shirt off over his head. Dean sat bolt upright on the bed and quickly stripped off his own layers of jacket and shirts, his pulse set racing at the sight of his mate. Fangs glinted in the moonlight flooding in through the open draperies as Sam grinned at him, that unguarded expression of pure delight that never failed to tug at his heartstrings. Dean grinned right back. He could feel the heat of his mate’s lust from ten feet away, a wanton caress on his bare skin. Weeks of pent-up desire crashed over him, promising a mind-blowing night.

Dean realized he was staring, slack-jawed and mesmerized by Sam’s hands as the alpha undid the buttons of his fly. He blinked, snapping himself out of it, and reluctantly diverted enough of his attention to unbutton the waistband of his own jeans.

“Hey!” he half laughed, half shouted in protest as Sam pounced on him, knocking him back onto the mattress and batting his hands away from his fly. The zipper on his second-best pair of jeans gave way as Sam tore it open and yanked the last of his clothing down his thighs. “Dude. We gotta quit destroying our clothes--_Oh_...’ Dean’s half-hearted complaint trailed off in a moan as his alpha lifted him as if he was a rag doll. Sam laid him down on the wide expanse of the bed and straddled his waist, nuzzling his face into the crook of Dean’s neck, drinking in his scent. Dean felt Sam’s fangs graze the scar tissue souvenir of the rogue werewolf bite that had turned him, and braced himself. This close to the full moon, it was practically guaranteed that the alpha wouldn’t be able to resist using him as a chew toy. But Sam contented himself with trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses over his neck and jawline and on down his chest. Sam’s tongue traced over his skin, every kiss becoming more animalistic as he made his way down Dean’s body. The taut muscles of Dean’s belly jumped involuntarily as Sam licked and nipped at him, teeth and fangs pressing into his flesh, but, showing uncharacteristic restraint, Sam held back from biting.

Which was practically a miracle, Dean thought vaguely as he alternately threaded his fingers through Sam’s hair and ran his hands eagerly over Sam’s shoulders, hungry for every bit of contact he could manage. Sam was acting like a man starved for weeks, and Dean was a Biggerson’s all-you-can-eat buffet. He abandoned the attempt at a food-related simile as Sam bent to lick the head of his cock. The caress of Sam’s tongue hit Dean with an overwhelming rush of sensation. Damn, but it had been way too long since they’d been able to indulge their mutual passion. Dean groaned and wrapped his legs around his mate’s broad shoulders, his grip in Sam’s too-long hair tightening involuntarily, drawing a quiet grunt from the big alpha. But Dean was already too far gone to notice or care. Sam’s lips had barely closed over the head of his cock before he was coming with a full-throated howl, the long dry spell and the approaching full moon robbing him of all control. 

He came back down to earth to the sound of his obnoxious not-little-brother’s snicker. Dean let out a rueful chuckle of his own. “Just too damn good,” he murmured huskily, not particularly concerned by what would have been a humiliating lapse of control, had he still been human. Now that he was a werewolf, and on the night before the full moon, at that? His cock was still fully erect, eager for more. He’d enjoy multiple orgasms before he and Sam were finally finished. 

Sam took the full length of that rock-hard cock into his mouth and Dean couldn’t help but growl, couldn’t stop his hips from bucking up, thrusting his full length into Sammy’s throat. Moments like this, the small part of his mind not turned to mush by his mate’s sinfully hot, wet mouth had to wonder: did alpha werewolves just not have a gag reflex? Or had Sam had to practice to develop that skill? As always, Dean decided he didn’t care, the last remnant of conscious thought fading as Sam sucked him off, another climax building-- 

The tinny jangle of his cell phone hit them both like a bucket of ice water. Dean tensed as Sam’s deep, angry growl vibrated against over-sensitive flesh. The phone rang again, the electronic honky-tonk tune insistent. Benny Lafitte’s ringtone. 

“Later,” Sam snarled, his voice dropped a full octave deeper than normal in a blatant command, and for once Dean didn’t feel any urge to rebel against the alpha’s attempt to control him. 

“Later,” he agreed breathlessly, and moaned as Sam took his cock back into his mouth, skillfully bringing him to a second climax. He practically purred as the alpha flipped him over to lie face-down on the bed. Dean obligingly spread his legs as Sam moved over him. His mate had certainly delayed his own pleasure long enough, he thought, but Sam nudged his knees back together and straddled his hips, big hands moving to Dean’s shoulders to knead away the tight knots he hadn’t even realized had settled there over the past hectic weeks. He couldn’t help but breathe out another soft, blissful moan as Sam massaged every last trace of tension away. “Careful,” Dean managed to mumble. “Keep that up and you’ll put me to sleep.” 

Sam chuckled. “I never have any trouble waking you up. Don’t worry, I’ll get mine. I just want to spoil you rotten, first.” 

Sam worked his way down Dean’s body to the small of his back, and just as Dean had predicted, the massage lulled him into a light doze. Then Sam moved from his lower back to his buttocks, and Dean’s cock hardened in anticipation as the alpha positioned himself between his legs. One big, warm hand rested on the small of his back as Sam shifted his weight, reaching for something--

He tensed involuntarily for a second as Sam circled his anus with a lube-slicked finger, before consciously relaxing with a deliberate exhale. Time travel and alternate realities might be old hat to the seasoned hunter, but this aspect of his crazy second-chance existence was still novel enough to throw him, just a little. Who would have ever imagined that he, Dean Winchester, would end up going gay for a werewolf?

In response to the unspoken moment of tension, his mate loomed over him, holding him down with his free hand, exerting that dominance that never failed to turn Dean’s legs to jelly. Firm, but with a gentleness that brought a wholly unexpected ache to Dean’s throat, Sam pressed first one, then two fingers into him. 

“Enough. I’m good to go,” Dean said, his voice gruff, trying to speed things along. Sam’s slow, deliberate process of readying him for penetration, forestalling his own passion out of concern for Dean’s comfort, was bringing up emotions the hunter usually kept buried, pushed down so deep with the ease of long years of habit, he rarely even remembered they existed. But now, under Sam’s relentlessly gentle touch, Dean felt the weight of them. That tenderness--it was just too much for a man so unaccustomed to being cared for.

“Uh-uh. Not until I say so.” Sam stretched out on the bed, his body pressed up against Dean’s side, three fingers thrusting into him now, but with a leisurely pace that Dean swore was going to drive him mad. Sparks flared at the periphery of Dean’s vision as Sam found that fabled sweet spot. 

“Goddammit, so--_ah_\--so fuckin’--good--ah, _Sam_\--” Growled half-coherent curses accompanied every stroke as Dean let himself go.

**...**

This time, it was the ring of Sam’s cell phone that broke the mood. 

“Are you kidding me?” both Winchesters groaned in unison. 

Sam rolled off the bed and retrieved the phone from his jeans, discarded on the floor. “Hello? Sparrow? No, no, it’s fine. What’s going on?”

“Put her on speaker,” Dean demanded, moving to stand at Sam’s side. 

Sam shook his head, striding naked across the room to the balcony, cupping the phone to his ear as he opened the door. “You relax. Let me deal with it.” 

Dean frowned, watching as Sam paced the balcony listening to Sparrow. His supernaturally acute sense of hearing could pick up the occasional word, none of it good. _A woman, human, found dead. Police. The press._

“No witnesses? Sparrow, it’s the night before the full moon, how can it be that no one in the camp noticed anything?” Sam’s voice was incredulous. 

Dean opened the balcony door and stepped out into the frigid night, heedless of the cold. Dean’s nose wrinkled involuntarily at the wave of worry and confusion rolling off of his mate. “Sammy. Put her on speaker,” he said again.

Again, Sam shook his head. “Okay, let me touch base with the camp in Tampa,” he said to Sparrow, the reassurance in his voice at total odds with his scent and the creases lining his forehead. “Yeah. I’ll get right back to you.” 

“What’s going on? Somebody got murdered in one of the camps? In Tampa?” Dean laid a hand on Sam’s shoulder. “Tell me what’s going on, Sammy.”

Sam forced a smile. “It’s okay, Dean. This close to the full moon, there’s no way we could get to Florida in time to do any good, anyway. Let me just make a few calls.” He pulled Dean against him, planting a distracted kiss on his lips. “It’ll just take half an hour or so.” 

“I get it, you want the rest of us to relax and enjoy this vacation.” Dean reined in his impatience with his big Sasquatch of a mate and his stubborn, misplaced urge to shield his pack. “We can keep it from the girls until after the full moon, but fill me in and I’ll help you make those calls.”

“I said I’ll deal with it.” Sam somehow managed to make his voice both sharp and guttural at the same time, a rebuke and a clear command to his mate to back off. 

Dean took an involuntary step backwards, hands automatically rising, palms facing out, a gesture of appeasement. “Okay, okay. _Geez_,” he added, hurt by the rebuff and hating himself for his instinctive submission. He retreated from the balcony, back into the warmth of the bedroom, and regarded the wreckage of his jeans with a roll of his eyes. Dean went to pull another pair from his duffle bag. “Fine. Half an hour. That’ll give me time to call Benny back.” 

A gust of cold air blew into the room, accompanied by a flare of emotion so hot, Dean half expected a cloud to form. His volatile alpha mate, bringing his own personal storm front with him as he slammed the balcony door behind him. “What?” Dean challenged, his tone belligerent, although he already knew.

“You’re seriously calling the Cajun?” Sam scoffed, refusing to use Benny’s name. “Tonight? What, he can’t get through even one full moon without you to hold his hand?” 

“Well, it’s not like you need me to ‘hold your hand’ with whatever’s going on in Tampa,” Dean said, sarcastic. He yanked on clothing, resolutely refusing to look Sam’s way. 

“Fine!” The thud of his mate’s oversized feet vibrated his eardrums as Sam stalked back to the balcony. 

“Fine!” Dean echoed. The idjit. Serve him right if he froze his balls off. 

**...**

A few minutes later, downstairs and fully dressed, the idea of stepping outside into the night didn’t seem quite so idiotic. The cold served as a good distraction from the tangle of emotions Sam’s reaction had roused in him: annoyance with Sam’s irrational jealousy, ironically twisted up with his own irrational guilt at displeasing his mate. With a physical and mental shrug, Dean slipped out onto one of the wide porches that encircled the ground floor of the rustic mansion. He leaned his hip against a stone and rough-hewn timber railing, took a deep breath to compose himself, and dialed the rogue Cajun. “Hey, Benny.” 

“Dean. Sorry to bother you, but damn, it’s good to hear your voice. Thanks for callin’ back.” 

“I’ll always answer your call, Benny. That’s what friends do,” Dean told him firmly. “Full moon tomorrow night. How you holding up?”

Benny’s chuckle was rueful. “Ah, you know. I’ll be all right. Jus’, you know how they say once a wolf goes rogue, he cain’t ever come back?”

“You did,” Dean pointed out.

“I did,” Benny acknowledged. “But it was hard. An’ it don’t seem t’ get any easier, the second time around.” 

“You in a safe place to ride out the full moon?”

“You know it, brother. Miles from any human.”

Dean looked out across the sloping lawn, out at the dense pine forest and the pristine lake. The first few flakes of the promised snow were just beginning to drift down from the clouds. “Alone? Again?”

“Best that way, _cher_.”

“What about your pack?” Dean frowned. _This_ pack, him and Jo and Rachel and Sam, they ought to be Benny’s pack, but they’d rejected the Cajun. All of them but Dean. He felt bound by loyalty to Benny, for saving Sam’s life, and for the bonds of brotherhood he and his own world’s Benny Lafitte had forged in Purgatory. “Your, uh, biological pack, I mean. There’s plenty of Cajuns in Louisiana and Texas, aren’t there? You must have some family back there to help you through--” Benny’s laugh cut him off, a deep baritone rumble that set butterflies to fluttering in Dean’s stomach. Although, he noted, the big Cajun’s amusement seemed to carry a faint tinge of desperation.

“My pack? _Whoo-ee_, that’s a good one. My pack cast me out, a long time ago. It’d be the death o’ me to step foot back in Cajun country,” Benny told him amid laughter. “But hey, thanks for lightenin’ th’ mood. What you been up to, Dean?”

“I was having the first sex I’ve gotten to enjoy in weeks. Until you called, you damn Cajun cockblocker,” Dean groused, and felt pleased with himself when he heard Benny laugh again. 

“Well, for that I am truly sorry, brother. I’ll let you get back to it.” 

“You take care of yourself,” Dean told him sincerely.

“You, too. And take care of Sam,” Benny gave his customary admonishment. “Goodnight, _cher_.”


	3. Meat, Tasty Meat

Snow was falling in earnest now, fat, white flakes settling on the railing. Dean shivered and stepped back inside. His eyebrows arched in surprise at the unmistakable scent of red meat. Maybe Jo and Rachel had sent their ‘boy toy’ down to fix a midnight snack? Whoever was doing the cooking, Dean decided, he wanted in. Literally following his nose, he found Jo standing at an industrial range in a caterer’s dream of a kitchen, searing a slab of steak.

“I didn’t even know you could cook,” Dean said by way of greeting.

Jo shrugged. “I can... If I’m hungry enough. And right now, I’m starving.” 

Her blonde waves were a bit tousled, Dean noted absently, but other than that, there was no hint of how she’d spent the past hour. Had Sparrow or one of the other AWR people called to let her know what had gone down at the encampment in Tampa? The mouth-watering aroma wafting from the skillet on the stove effectively covered any scent of unease the alpha might be feeling. 

“I’m starving, too.” He really was, Dean realized, eyeing the steak. Full moon hungry, the wolf’s appetite for prey making itself known. He supposed the crisp country air had played its role, too. 

Jo sighed theatrically as she flipped the steak, still mostly raw, onto a cutting board and sliced off a bite. “I suppose you want me to share? Of course you want me to share,” she chuckled as Dean snatched the morsel and popped it into his mouth. “Fine. You cook the next one, though.”

“Fair enough.” 

They devoured the steak in companionable silence, until Jo’s eyes narrowed and she pointed an accusing finger at Dean. “You smell just as horny and pent-up as you did back in civilization,” she said. “Normally I’d say that’s your problem, none of my business. But we all agreed we had to get Sam to take some R&R. What gives?”

“Interruptions, that’s what gives,” Dean grumbled. Now that his attention wasn’t totally on scarfing down steak, his hyper-acute sense of smell made it clear that Jo had definitely found time to engage in ‘rest and recreation’, particularly the recreation part. The scents of both Rachel and Matt clung to her, painting a vivid olfactory image that was practically pornographic. It wasn’t fair, Dean couldn’t help but think, comparing Jo’s situation to his own. There weren’t any tabloids or websites spreading the story that she and Rachel were sisters. The women of the pack sure as hell hadn’t been deprived of sex for weeks! But here they got to have a kinky werewolf-human-werewolf threesome, while he and Sam ended up arguing over Benny and--

“Interruptions?” Jo’s question snapped Dean’s attention back to the matter at hand. “What interruptions?”

“Sparrow called. Something about trouble in one of the camps. A human was killed, or apparently that’s what the police think happened. Sam wouldn’t let me listen in,” Dean explained.

“I don’t believe this. I called Sparrow when we got here, just to make sure everything was copacetic,” Jo sighed. “Okay, I’ll take care of it. Next time, don’t let Sam answer the phone.”

“Right, like I can stop Sam from answering his phone.”

“What, are your arms broken?”

Bristling at Jo’s sarcasm, Dean fired back with some of his own. “Great advice, Jo. Just order the big moose around, no problem. Because Sam always does whatever I say--”

“Dammit, Dean!” Jo cut him off, exasperated. “You know, this stereotype you insist on believing isn’t just insulting. It’s starting to affect your role in the pack. Like I said, normally I’d be all for giving you and Sam your privacy, let you work out your dynamic on your own. It’s none of my business if you want to play the weak, helpless little submissive.” 

“I’m not--”

“Shut up and listen. This werewolf rights thing? The AWR, the protests and camps, all that? This is the fight of Sam’s life. And the pack’s fight, too. You’re part of the pack, Dean. And you’re Sam’s mate. Whatever other role you take on, that’s job number one for you! It’s on you to take care of him, understand? It’s on you to keep him in fighting trim! Which he can’t be if he’s exhausted and burnt out,” Jo concluded.

“So what do you want me to do?”

“You’re his mate! You figure it out. Hell, beat some sense into him if you have to!”

**...**

“You figure it out,” Dean muttered to himself in a mocking imitation of Jo’s voice as he made his way back to the suite of rooms he and Sam had picked out. “That’s job one, _nyah, nyah, nyah, nyah_.”

Sam had had the good sense to come back inside and put some clothes on, he saw. Dean’s annoyance with the pack alpha and with his infuriating martyr of a mate faded as his wolfish senses picked up Sam’s reaction to his return. The tight set of Sam’s broad shoulders eased, his scent broadcasting relief, the frown lines on his forehead smoothing, though his expression remained serious as he spoke into his cell phone. 

“Hey, Sammy.” Dean walked over to him casually, plucked the phone from his hand, and kept right on walking to the balcony door. Opening it, he threw the phone over the railing into the snowy darkness. 

“Dean! What the hell?” 

The bitch face, Dean thought, stifling a chuckle, was positively epic. Somehow, though, the alpha was managing to look even more outraged. Of course. Within hours of the full moon, there was no way Dean could hide his amusement from any of his fellow werewolves, let alone his not-little-brother.

“This isn’t funny. I was on the phone with the media liaison for the entire Florida AWR!” Sam sputtered, irate. 

That ire was comical, Dean thought, not bothering to hide his smirk at the reaction. It was hard to imagine Sam being the slightest bit intimidating now, not to his own mate, not now that Dean’s wolf wasn’t caught off guard. “Calm down, Frances. Jo’s gonna take care of it.” 

“But I was--”

“Shut up.” Dean stepped in close, gripped the back of Sam’s neck, and pulled his head down for a kiss. Which Sam returned for a moment, but then his muscles tensed minutely under the palm of Dean’s hand, telegraphing his intent to pull away. Dean’s arm tensed in response, holding him in place. He felt Sam’s ribcage expand as Sam drew breath to argue. Dean tightened his grip on the nape of Sam’s neck, refusing to let him break the kiss. He sucked his lower lip into his mouth, worrying the deliciously plump softness of it gently between his teeth, feeling Sam begin to relax into his embrace. Dean bit down hard enough to pierce his lip with his fangs. 

Sam’s high pitched yelp of pained surprise barely registered. The taste of blood on Dean’s tongue overwhelmed all other senses. He’d meant to startle Sam into a moment of submission, give the insufferable alpha a hint of what it felt like to be dominated against his will, but Dean hadn’t anticipated his own reaction. His wolf’s reaction. With a growl, Dean yanked Sam in hard, bodies pressed tight together, luxuriating in the spill of his mate’s blood over his tongue as he plundered his mouth, his wolf eager to claim every drop. 

Another deep, primal growl tore from Dean’s throat as he felt the tension in Sam’s muscles ebb away. Sam’s heat, his pulse, every short, panting breath drove Dean wild. He scooped him up in his arms, feeling a rush of exhilaration as he lifted Sam’s body, all 250 pounds of him, as easily as picking up a kitten. Dean closed the distance to the bed in a few long strides and threw Sam down on it with enough force to rattle the hand-carved, solid oak headboard. 

Standing at the foot of the bed, he struggled out of his clothes. Fingers fumbled with zipper and buttons, his wolf more in control now than his human side, making the simple task an exercise in frustration. Finally stripped naked, he turned his attention back to Sam, who was wriggling out of his jeans. Dean reached down and grabbed hold of the denim bunched around Sam’s knees and yanked the jeans off. His breath hitched in his throat as he took in the entire six feet, four inches of his mate’s gloriously nude body from toes to tousled, too-long hair. Sam’s chest rose and fell with every rapid breath, his long, thick cock rock-hard; his pupils so dilated with lust, the golden irises were no more than a narrow ring around the black; his chin smeared with crimson. Dean wanted to pounce on him and devour him. 

He made himself pause, the wolf seeming to whine and pace with impatience as he drew in a deep, shuddering breath, forcing himself to regain control. Sam sat up on the bed, legs splayed, his cock jutting up, rowdy and ready to go, a glistening droplet of pre-cum welling up from the tip. Dean swallowed hard and pulled his eyes away from the wanton display with an effort. Where the hell was the lube?

“You’re cute when you’re bossy.” Sam’s grin was playful, but there was a glint of defiance in his eyes as he rose to his knees and grabbed Dean, pulling him onto the bed and pushing him down on his back. 

It just figured Sam would resist. No matter what universe it might be, a Winchester was a Winchester, after all. Dean arched his back, hooked a leg over Sam’s hip, and rolled them both, landing Sam on his back with Dean on top. Sam responded with a warm, throaty chuckle, and rocked his hips upward, grinding his erection against Dean’s own needy, aching cock. Dean gave himself over to the sensation, hips bucking instinctively. With a surge of feral strength, Sam flipped them back over again, planting his knees on either side of Dean’s thighs and gripping his wrists tight, pinning him to the mattress. 

It wasn’t lost on Dean that Sam had managed the maneuver without once breaking the delicious contact he’d initiated when he was the one on the bottom. Sam’s cheeks were dimpled with the width of his grin, and Dean let himself melt at the sight. He let the resistance flow out of him, hands falling open, palms up, relaxed under Sam’s grip on his wrists. “No fair,” he muttered, but with a gleam in his own eyes that made it plain the sulk was just for show. He ground his hips against Sam’s, driving them both crazy with the sensation. Every hot, hard inch of his cock stroked against Sam’s, both slick with pre-cum and already straining toward climax. 

Sam matched his pace to Dean’s, a moan spilling from his lips as they moved together. “Dean,” Sam gasped. 

Dean was barely able to hold on as Sam came. “Sam,” he groaned through gritted teeth, willing himself not to lose control. 

The alpha tossed back his head, veins standing out in sharp relief against the muscles of his chest and arms as his whole body tensed with the power of his climax. Sam’s hands flexed unconsciously and his grip on Dean’s wrists loosened.

“There it is,” Dean said, his voice warm with approval, his smirk thoroughly self-satisfied. It was just plain _fun_ to make his mate fall to pieces... And it wasn’t a bad distraction, either. Sam barely seemed to notice when Dean slipped out from under him. Dean rolled off the side of the bed, located the tube of lubricant discarded on the floor--_about time_\--and clambered back on the bed, shoving Sam’s long legs apart as he knelt behind him. “My turn.”


End file.
